


The Mischief of Factions

by indubitably_tara



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Genocide, Implied Character Death, Implied Relationships, Politics, Tragedy, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indubitably_tara/pseuds/indubitably_tara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ABANDONED STORY.</p><p>The board has been set, the players ready, the pawns primed. It's time to start a war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Primus

 

_Prologue_

* * *

In the beginning, there was nothing.

Or so I am told, because I was not there to experience it. But when there was something, and I started to experience it, it was everything all at once. Every word, every sound, every light, every feeling (magnificent and terrifying). I decided to keep the good ones closer to My Spark; they seemed so fleeting.

At the same moment I began, there was My Brother, who wanted no sensation. He wanted no words, no sounds, no lights, no _feelings_. He had come from that nothing - so he claimed - and he had treasured it. He assumed a mission of destruction. And it pains me greatly to admit that for some time I stood by watching his parade through our universe.

Until I stopped. From My Spark I created the First Thirteen who helped me bring an end to his reign. This happening cost most of My energy; I had to back down and let the remaining lead.

To be an outsider, to not interact, is sparkbreaking. It rattles the core of My very being. Sometimes when I gaze upon my My Children and see the mistakes being made, I mourn like an infant and not what I am. I cannot reach out to slap their servo to show them the wrongness of their actions, like a good caretaker would.

And occasionally, it is even worse when My mechs or femmes has done well. Then My Spark swells with love and compassion and I again suddenly know why I created My Cybertronians. My faith in them is renewed for a short period of time. The hope I had in the budding society blooms and light seems to radiate from no where. These are the times I have come to hold near and very dear to My Spark.

Times I fear will soon be coming to an end.

* * *

 


	2. Gravitas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plotters and schemers seem to be up to things...

 

 

* * *

"There have been murmurs." His colleague leaned over and whispered. The two both stepped lightly over the crystal mosaic floor of the High Council Chambers. The few other members of the greatly esteemed High Council of Ancients had yet to arrive and Templar was attempting conversation.

"Oh? Murmurs of what?" Gravitas questioned back.

"Discontent." Templar smiled slightly, as if someone has just told him a naughty joke. Gravitas mirrored the smile and sat in the high-backed chair so generously provided by the public.

He inspected the pristine white gold hands that rested on the ornate U-shaped table. "Discontent? My, _my_. Will they ever acknowledge the miracles we so graciously allot? We might have to do something, pass a decree or two..."

"What's all this talk about miracles? I didn't take you for a fool, Gravitas, dear." A short femme with a presence that filled a room - and sometimes a city-state - swept in. The femme was the color of ice (something actually colorless, but she substituted an almost translucent blue instead) and had optics barely a shade darker that were always narrowed; Gravitas guessed in perpetual suspicion. This all made her much more intimidating.

"Ah, Neo!" He opened his arms in false welcome and delight. "I would have been so dismal if I hadn't been subject to your lovely presence this orn. Things to do, Neo!" Her skepticism almost burned as he chuckled delicately. Templar shifted restlessly two seats down as if he could feel the mental attempts at power-play - a constant occurrence between the two.

"Yes, I would've hated missing anything." Neo ascended the spiral staircase primly but forcefully, as was her style.

At that moment, the next council member strode into the hall, ruby armor flashing ever brighter and deeper under the lights. His shoulders were set back confidently and his helm cocked to the side, a habit developed early in mechlinghood.

Gravitas greeted him with a blank stare.

"Eronus, I am so _pleased_ you could make it. I truly am," his voice drawled.

Eronus flipped his hand up to inspect the tips of his fingers and replied, "Well I couldn't leave Neo all by herself for the meeting today now _could_ I?" Neo smirked as he sat down beside her.

"Eronus, I believe - " Neo began before -

"Kudon! Vraz!" Gravitas boomed (at a socially proper level, of course). "Now we can call this meeting to order!"

"One could only hope for such restraint." Neo sighed.

Kudon and Vraz quickened their steps and took their seats, Vraz beside Gravitas and Kudon to the left of Templar. The crystal mosaic floor sparkled serenely.

"Yes, yes. Shall we begin?"

"Didn't I hear something about disorder earlier? Is that why this meeting was called?" Neo leaned forward and turned to Templar.

"There have been rumors of growing... unease." He whispered and glanced down at the table. The three others perked up at the gossip.

"It's particularly bad in Kaon I've heard." Eronus said.

"How bad is 'particularly'?" Vraz scoffed. Things like this happened all the time and frankly it was no big deal. A few soldiers and a good cover-up was all it took.

"That's why I introduced the Gladiatorial Games, to keep the heathens busy." Something like pride simmered in Gravitas's voice, as if the act had been a good one and had kept all the monsters locked away.

Neo laughed in the same way a parent did when indulging a sparkling. "Dozens of riots, dear. The heathens aren't busy enough."

Templar nodded. "The rumors are that it's the gladiators who are growing restless." He shifted in his seat and squirmed in the silence.

"They're not _growing_ restless. Obviously, if these dozens of riots are anything to go by, they've been restless for a while." A heavier silence followed Neo's words. "There are reports that there is a leader, also. Dangerous, wouldn't you agree?"

"In fact," she continued when no one else spoke up, "if one were to examine the _ample_ evidence, I'd say we have a rebellion on our hands." It was like a frost had engulfed the room. No one dared vent for fear of inciting rebellion.

"So my dearest mechs, what we need to figure out now is how we are going to stomp on the insects threatening our hard-earned Golden Age."

"They are insane!" Gravitas's voice was quiet, but it held an anger that the others hadn't heard in quite a while. Neo raised an optic ridge at the display and grinned. "After all I've - we've - given them! Out of the kindness of our _sparks_! To _believe_ that they would even _think_ of disobeying direct orders from us!"

He spun his chair around and steepled his fingers, contemplating. Gravitas gazed out the rather expansive window and considered the situation.

The Prime would be useless. The arrogant fool would underestimate the threat to the planet and thus lead Cybertron to its demise. It was why the Council coddled him and made the decisions he couldn't, like to decrease the funding for youth centers and pass it to their own office. Prime didn't have the composition for those decisions. Prime was a fool. A useless, arrogant, fool...

Gravitas spun his chair back around and the murmurs ceased.

"We'll use the Prime." A groan rose up.

"That useless buffoon!"

"Gravitas."

"We finally broke him. I think I'll drink vintage Praxian."

"No, no, not like that! We'll _use_ him. As a pawn." Gravitas stood and spoke rapidly.

"There may be a way to rid ourselves of both these issues.

"You see, we need Prime, oaf that he is. His approval rating is high enough that a take down too obvious would turn the public against us. He occasionally assists us in passing bills that otherwise may not have seen the Senate."

"What's your point, Gravitas?"

"Any other Prime could what he does. That is my point." He sniffed.

"So you're saying," Kudon smirked, "we liberate the Matrix from an unfit leader, choose a Prime that will cater to our - pardon - Cybertron's needs, and call it Golden Age Part Two?"

Gravitas smiled.

"That, dearest Kudon, is precisely the idea. Here is what I was thinking..."

* * *

Only one word was needed to define Primehood in his opinion: monotony. It really was just paperwork and regulations, and the general population kissing his pedes, whispering _lead us to salvation Sentinel Prime! Lead us!_ He enjoyed the last part a bit much though and considered it a perk.

Virtually omnipotent and a spark made of kindness - a thing of beauty, made for leading, he was.

The door to his office slid open with a dramatic flair suited to the bot standing in the opening.

Sentinel Prime stood. "Gravitas. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He smiled at his joke. He was hilarious sometimes.

The councilor smiled too, he noticed. Oh, good. The game had started.

"Prime," a shallow bow, "our meeting has concluded."

"You usually send one of the aides." Sentinel Prime sat back down in his chair. It was rather plush, made from organic materials to provide optimum comfort. Gravitas took a seat too without proper social niceties in one of the (purposely) less ostentatious chairs set in front of Prime's desk.

"I'm aware." Gravitas flashed a grin. _Probably fake_ , Prime noted. "Indeed, we reached a decision about a certain matter and we thought you would like to... be aware."

"How generous," Prime drawled.

There was a silence, during which Gravitas picked up a trinket from his desk and twirled it for a klik.

So this was how it was going to.

"And?"

"Pardon?" Gravitas spun the trinket a few more times as Prime counted to ten, an old habit.

"What was the decision, Gravitas?"

"Oh, that." He set the trinket back upside down. "Have you heard of the uprisings in Kaon?"

"Plural?"

"Yes, _Lord Prime_." Of course Sentinel Prime had only heard of the one riot thirty vorns ago. Gravitas knew that. What was he playing at?

Prime stared. "Indulge me, then." Sitting back with steepled fingers he waited.

"There have been a series of riots surrounding the Gladiator Pits - "

"That your Council put there?"

" - and each one has caused casualties. They're all incited by the same mech, a gladiator," here he paused, both for dramatic effect and to project an image of a familiar face.

"Megatronus." Prime rumbled grimly, if not amusingly.

"He goes by Megatron now. He shortened it for whatever reason." Gravitas's lip plates curled. "Insulting. Regardless, every time he speaks in public there is a riot." He turned off the hologram.

A beat of silence.

"Why am I just learning about these uprisings now, Gravitas?" There was a flash of something in his optics, then he smiled.

"The Council didn't want to alarm you, Prime, or the populace. We thought we could handle this problem." His hands folded in his lap and he tensed. "But alas, after realizing our methods weren't working we thought maybe a Prime would do some good."

Sentinel Prime preened. "Yes, I do have a way with the people. It is a gift."

"A good, necessary one," Gravitas encouraged. "The Council suggests you take a small group of soldiers with you, your most trusted ones. No more than five or six. Our current intel has Megatron with his closest followers in Altihex currently. We humbly recommend you go as soon as you are able. Will you?"

Sentinel stood and looked out the window at Iacon below. It was silent for a breem as he pondered and Gravitas made faces at his back. Suddenly, a pensive,

"I will."

* * *

_Several orns later_

Gravitas gazed into the window, admiring his reflection. He'd just gotten a touch up on his white gold and jade plating, and it was splendid. He shone brighter than Monoluna at night, displaying his wealth and infinite superiority for all the world to see.

Gravitas rubbed at the rubies inlaid onto his forehead as someone pinged.

"Enter." He swept around his marble desk as an aide - Kinsfire, Firehelm, Bifrost? - walked in.

"Sir," the little mech intoned, holding up a datapad, "there's news."

He snatched the datapad and snapped at the aide to leave, swiftly.

BATTLEFIELD REPORT # 0150-420-516

DESIGNATION: IRONHIDE

LOCATION OF BATTLE: OUTSKIRTS OF ALTIHEX, NEAR LOWER DISTRICT

Gravitas harrumphed and skipped to mid-summary.

WE REALIZED WE WERE OUTNUMBERED SEVEN TO ONE.

He cooed at the information and kept reading.

I STILL COULDN'T SEE SENTINEL PRIME, BUT I COULD HEAR HIM ACROSS THE BATTLEFIELD. WE CARRIED ON FOR ANOTHER BREEM, TRYING TO PERSUADE PRIME TO CALL A TACTICAL RETREAT,

He hissed.

BUT HE REFUSED. NOT TWO KLIKS AFTER THERE WAS A SHOUT, AND MEGATRON WAS GLOATING OVER PRIME'S LIFELESS CORPSE. HE ALLOWED ME, THE SOLE SURVIVOR, TO REMOVE THE BODY.

Gravitas beamed. The Prime was dead.

"Long live the Prime."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There we go. First chapter. I love Gravitas and Neo, they're such snobs. (And excuse my poor battlefield report writing skills I've never been in the military... obviously.) Con-crit?
> 
> (Shout out to arctapus's High Council, from which I drew a lot of inspiration. Go spend a month reading The Diego Diaries?)


End file.
